Reinvention
by Miso Muchi
Summary: Everyone kept forgetting he was Steve Rogers, not just Captain America: a poster boy. But, Steve was struck was a realization. He didn't have to be Steve to be himself. He could reinvent himself. He didn't have to stay. Crossover with the Losers.
1. When Jake Jensen is Created

**Reinvention:**

**Summary: To wake up in a world completely different from your own was slightly disorienting. But, Steve figured that once it was all said in down, the best thing to do was liken it to when he joined the army. Reinvent himself.**

**Sorry, this is a bit choppy. It was spur of the moment and I haven't proof read it at all.**

-/-start-/-

Chapter One

The blonde finds it funny in a way. All the different ways someone can just vanish in this modern world. Sure, back in his days it was easier to stay gone without computers and fingerprint databases to worry about, but this era had the means to go anywhere within hours. Quickly glancing around the park, he tilts his head back to look at the clouds, admiring the way that the fluffy white moisture created a story worth watching. And, his thoughts begin to drift back to where they have most commonly gone these days: reinvention.

When he had first joined the army, he was the outcast, no doubt. He was scrawny, blonde, and little bit more than cannon fodder. Where his body lacked physically, his personality and sponge-like learning quickly made up for it. While he was not prepared for the physical challenges naturally, he began his assimilation into the war environment, taking to it like he had only ever done drawing before. With a quick mind and dexterous fingers, he learned the ins and outs of weaponry, the technology behind the scenes, and the tactical maneuvers that would soon save his life. It was with a focused determination that he did this, because although a drunk his father may have been, he did teach him the important lesson of always knowing how to put something together before using it. That went for cars, weapons, clothes, battle maneuvers, and so much more.

Being chosen for the project, he took the same approach, cautiously approaching Doctor Eskrine and the infamous Howard Stark with his desire to learn what the hell he may be about to die for. While science was a never an area he had delved into before, as textbooks were hardly available to the general public, he patiently sat and learned. The fact that he knew the formula to create a super soldier was something he took with him to the grave… and will continue to. And, he has to be the first to admit, looking back, he was, as Peggy Carter put it, a 'bloody fool who is sacrificing their life as a lab rat.' But, he did not let that stop him then, and looking back, he would probably do it all again.

After he went through the most terrible pain of his life, becoming what they had only hoped and imagined, he broke his father's one lesson that he actually lived by. He used something before he knew how it worked. With gangly limbs and as much grace as a newborn fowl, he took his untested body for a search and capture straight off the bat, not knowing limitations. But, by God, he felt he could fly, even in the depressing circumstances surrounding that day.

Later on that week, after testing his body physically, finding the limitations to what really was a superior human form, he admits himself a fool. He only thought of capturing the serum, and he forgot that he was not himself. He could have easily smashed a car he hopped on with his dense muscles and heavy form, injuring multiple passersby. He could have tossed that car door into civilians.

The what-ifs brought him into a heavy contemplation. Usually, the past brought his regrets of who he could not save outweighing who he did save. Today, though, his thoughts kept drawing themselves back to his mad testing of his body after his untested joyride. He remembers his delicate process of slipping into the more serious, dependable role that the soldiers needed during the hopeless times. He remembers losing the good-natured humor to his reinvention of himself to suit his stature.

With a heavy sigh, the man brings himself back to the present, closing his eyes to the sun. It took only moments for him to reopen his eyes, a light in them not seen in decades. The light that said that he had an idea that was not going to be lost. The light that reminded him of when he was the little guy who went back time after time to enlist, no matter his failures. The determination spoke to him, caressing his thoughts. He lists the facts. One, he is not happy. _Simple, _spoke that voice inside his head, _if you are not happy, fix it. _Two, since he has woken, he has not actively made himself happy or tried to associate himself with this era. Instead, he brooded over long past comrades and a time that is currently impossible to go back to. _What is stopping you from learning all there is to learn about this world? You learned about being in a soldier's world from being in a civilian's. _Three, what was keeping him there? No one said he had to serve as Captain America. _Captain America is long gone. Let legends lie to rest. It is time for Steve Rogers to shine for once. _But, the people- S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers- will not let him simply vanish. For one group, he is a tool. For the other, he is an acquaintance, a partner in arms. He feels himself deflate.

_What is stopping you? You are you, are you not? You have always done what you wanted because it was the right thing for YOU to do for YOURSELF. So, how is this any different from being Steven Grant from Manhattan on the enlistment form? How is this any different from being Captain America instead of Captain Rogers? Reinvent yourself. You don't have to be Steven Grant Rogers from Brooklyn to do it._

Steve blinks up at the sky, tilting his head to look back around the park. He takes in the smiling children and laughing adults.

_I don't have to be Steve to be me._

The realization comes as a relief, and the determined little guy from Brooklyn shines through. Because, no one could ever keep Steve Rogers on the ground or keeping his trap shut or keeping him as a civilian. So, why should anyone be able to keep Steve Rogers from not being Steve Rogers?

_Reinvention_

The blonde hopped on his motorcycle a few weeks ago after Loki and Thor were off the planet, and had only stopped a few times since. A week after his revelation, he found a cozy little town that would begin his process of reinvention. His first stop was a small computer repair shop in the middle of a city block. A bell above the door rings as he opens the door, and Steve waits patiently in the shop.

Over the last seven days, he decided his reinvention should be completely opposite of himself. He needed to be someone with tech savvy, someone with modern lingo, and someone who dressed completely different. Steve has to smirk at the thoughts of what he needed to change. Tony Stark had given him the perfect list through his mocking. And, while Steve cringes slightly at the thought off becoming opposite of himself and losing his manners, he knows that when he disappears the will zone in on people that were like Steven Rogers, instead of who he is becoming. In response to this, first he begins to change his cluelessness of the outside world, leaving the physical characteristics until closer to when he vanishes. After all, he does not want to give any indication of change before he is ready to leave, and the slightest visible change may cause high alert paranoia

"Can I help you?"

Steve comes out of his thoughts at the disgruntled man in front of him. The man is tall, rather lanky, with a depressed sort of look on his scruffy face. He wears tight blue jeans and ratty tennis shoes, while a large t-shirt that has some sort of band on it drapes off his boney shoulders. "Ah, I want to know how to put a computer together and what each part does?"

The man, maybe in his mid to late twenties looks at him with slight interest. "Why?"

The blonde wonders if all people this day and age were so blunt with their thoughts, but decided to just be honest. "My father told me when I was a boy that to really know how to use something, you had to know how each part worked."

"Chuck," answers the man, nodding as if Steve had passed some sort of test.

"Pleasure to meet you," Steve greets politely. Chuck looks him up and down.

"No name, blondie?" Chuck asks with a raised eyebrow, removing a box from underneath the counter.

Steve chuckles. "I'll get back to you on that."

"Enigmatic," is the depressing man's apathetic reply. Steve believes this man is like that donkey, Eeyore, that Stark had alluded to in passing a few weeks ago, and then made him watch. "So, what exactly do you want to know?"

"Everything," answers Steve. Chuck whistles.

"That is going to cost you," warns the tall man, but his eyes show that he is much more interested in showing Steve now than he was. "I don't give free lessons."

"I have been told I have no computer skills once so ever. I have no problem paying a fee to learn how to put it together and use it," Steve declares seriously. Chuck just nods.

"Alright, let's get started. Though, I warn you now, I leave at five sharp. No later. I have things to do, I own the shop, I don't care if you don't have time to come before five."

The warning just makes Steve chuckle. "No problem. How long will this take, do you think?"

"You know nothing?" interrogates the man, eyeing him suspiciouosly. Steve nods slightly in amusement. " Probably three or four weeks, two hours a day. I have repairs and customers, so I can't devote anymore time. Plus my girlfriend will murder me and I rather like having a Wonder Woman look-a-like to show off as my girl at conventions."

"Sounds find to me, thank you. How much will it cost?"

Over the next month, Steve learns that though Chuck is an apathetic, uncaring sort of man, he is more of a task maker than some of the officers he met in the army. For the first week, Chuck would make him take the computer apart and rebuild it while making Steve recite the use for every part and why it does what it does. Despite it all though, Chuck became somewhat of a worshipper of Steve, because, by the end of the month and a half (three weeks in he was called for a mission that lasted a week and a half), and extra study on the side, Steve could out hack the man. Also, in that time, Steve notices he began to lose the bulkiness of his muscle. As he spent more time indoors learning tech and discovering the joys of the internet and random facts, he trained less, enough to become less of an imposing figure. He was relieved to see that the people he would soon vanish from did not notice the slight, gradual change. The blonde knew he needed to be more slender to blend into the crowd, and adapted the training schedule he had to accommodate that. Soon enough, though, it came time to say goodbye, and Steve gave the man his untraceable e-mail address.

"I'll keep in touch, blondie," grins Chuck, genuinely lost in the bittersweet feeling of a friend leaving. His grin is more of a slight tilting of the lips, but Steve has gotten far past the almost expressionless face to read the quirks and signs of emotions.

"Jake," suddenly says Steve. Chuck tilts his head to the side, eyes slightly confused. "You can call me Jake."

Chuck snorts, shaking his head. "A month and a half…. Nice meeting you, Jake."

"You as well."

From there, Steve begins to create his in, searching for a way to create his identity while he travels by day. Finally, three missions and two months later, he makes his way to a small town, running into a woman toting a babe on her hip. The woman is dirty blonde, with blue eyes, and wearing a worn down look on her face.

"Oh, sorry about that, my fault," he brushes off as he sees her lips twitch as if to yell at him for running into her. As quickly as it came, it fades.

"No, it's fine. I wasn't watching."

Her clipped words make something twinge in Steve's compassionate heart, and he cannot stop from asking, "Would you like to grab a bite to eat?"

The woman hesitates, clearly suspicious of his motives. Steve inwardly frowns at the loss of trust that is so common in the twenty first century.

"My treat," Steve coaxes, smile twitching onto his face handsomely. The woman gives a sigh, nodding along. "Great! I'm Jake!"

"Jessica," answers the woman, placing her hand in his own as she hikes the sleeping baby higher on her hip. "And this little darling is Hannah Elizabeth, who will not let her mommy sleep one wink at night."

"Hello," coos Steve at the sleeping babe, immediately flushing at the amused look Jessica gives him. "I… ah… I."

"What you are trying to say is 'I don't talk to women much,' right?"

Steve laughs, grinning. "Not quite, but close enough."

"Well, since you are paying, I prefer pizza," Jessica inputs, to which Steve directs her into the nearest pizza place.

Over pizza, Steve learns that she is a hairdresser and student, trying to make her way through college to become an accountant. It is her last semester in college to get her masters, making her only twenty-six, as she took two year off before she entered college. Unfortunately, or fortunately, she got pregnant with her daughter and her boyfriend ran off, leaving her high and dry. But, seeing the run down woman and child gave Steve the motivation that he had not had yet, enough to make the final leap to become Jake.

He learns of her little brother, Peter Jacobi Jensen, and how he vanished two years ago, and how Jessica never reported it, but she knew he was dead. Peter had sent her a suicide video a year after he vanished. Before than, both her parents had passed and Jessica had moved to a new town, where no one had ever seen or knew her family. With that opportunity, he could finally take the leap.

"Ah, I could help you out financially," suggests Steve, three months after the two began meeting for lunch, which eventually lead to breakfast and lunch, then every meal.

"Jake, I can't ask you to-"

"Listen, I am looking for a fresh start. No attachments to my old life. And, well, you are like an older sister. I'd be happy to help."

Jessica gives him a long, hard look, wondering if she should trust her instincts to let the man into her life. Her heart warms at the thought of being an older sister again. "Jake isn't your real name, is it?"

"No, it is not," answers Steve honestly, wondering if this woman would trust him after only a week. Jessica sighs, and while Steve does not know it is in relief of his honesty, she switches to looking at him sternly.

"You aren't doing anything illegal right?" inquires the woman, thinking of all the time she catches the man on his laptop, to which Steve shakes his head. "Than, why are you running?"

"There was nothing left keeping me there."

After several long minutes, Jessica levels him with a stare. "I have a basement, with another entrance from the house. You pay for half the utilities and you get free reign down there…. And, I will let get you the information of Peter."

"What?" states Steve flabbergasted. The blonde woman snorts.

"That's what you wanted, right? His social security, his identity?" Jessica presses. Steve nods dumbly. "You may have not said it, Jake, but the first thing I noticed about you was pretty much I wouldn't have noticed you if we hadn't bumped into each other. That is automatically suspicious."

"I haven't gotten to the physical changes of myself yet," Steve answers with a rueful shake of his head, slightly bemused by her observation.

"First thing is first," Jessica states, eyeing him up and down. "You aren't attached to your hair cut, are you?"

Steve shrinks into his seat, but shakes his head. Jessica grins.

"Good. Meet me in the bathroom, five minutes."

Six minutes later, Steve sits on the closed lid of the commode as the hairdresser moved him this way and that. "I need a new wardrobe."

"I am sure we can find something respectable for you," assures the blonde woman, more concentrated on his hair than the conversation.

"No, I think I need something a little… unrespectable," coughs Steve, flushing slightly. Jessica raises a brow, and the other explains. "I have always been respectable. I don't want anybody looking for me, so I have to be the exact opposite kind of. Respectable is the first thing they will look for."

"So, you want to dress like every other computer geek that still lives at home?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Alright, I can work with that. But, you will need glasses and facial hair. No computer geek lasts long without glasses, they stare at the computer too much," she explains lightly. Steve grimaces, wondering if he could get used to glasses with his above average vision. "Also, you need a better… ah, speech pattern? You speak really politely, and no one does that. Plus, you need some sort of quirk. All geniuses have quirks."

"Who said anything about being a genius!" protests Steve automatically. Jessica chuckles.

"Jake, I have seen you recite books, word for word by memory. No normal person does that. Thus, genius."

"What is a fairly harmless quirk?" asks Steve after several moments.

A few months slowly passed, Steve completely vanishing with the agreement of Jessica Jensen. At the waypoint of a half a year later, a quirky man with absolutely no filter and a non-stop chatterbox genius emerges from his sister's house. He is a doting uncle, an excellent brother, and wears the most obnoxious t-shirts and jeans. At first, he is a little stiff, unsure of what he does or says, but as six months bleeds into a year, Jake Jensen was a sight to be seen and used to in the small town. With the year mark passing, Jake Jensen finally decides the best course of action, somewhere no one would think to look, because if a person is running away, why go back?

"Bye Bethie! Bye, Jessie! I am going to enlist in the army! See you whenever I get back from wherever!"

With that, the door slams shut, leaving a shocked woman standing with the image of her brother and his duffle bag, grinning at her confusion.

-/-

**REVIEW**

**If you actually like this, review. I am not going to waste my time posting a story no one likes. I can get my pleasure reading/writing it, without posting it.**

**Also, give me a heads up on what you would like to see pairing wise in this story. It will relate back to the Avengers eventually or I would have written it just about the movie/comic… which I have never seen or read.**

**Okay, so it has been a long time since I have posted a story, but I wanted to give it a try again. I have lately had an obsession with the Avengers, so here is what came from it. I have many other ideas that if there is interest, I will post, so review and tell me, because I have chapters written out for them already. I have a bunch of Avenger ideas, quite a few NCIS (including another take on how Gibbs met Tony and another one focused on the mystery behind Tony), a crossover of NCIS and Criminal Minds (TonyxSpencer pairing), etc.**

**Anyways, just go to my favorites lists and check out the categories I read. I would be happy to do any fanfiction idea or any crossover if you just want someone to write about it. Just give me a holler and a request. **

**Ignore any of my past fics. I don't really care for any of them.**


	2. When Jensen Forgets His Gun

**Reinvention:**

**Summary: Steve wonders what is worse: being a preforming monkey because he was untested or being Captain America just because he was Captain America. Everyone kept forgetting he was Steve Rogers, not just Captain America: a poster boy. But, Steve was struck was a realization. He didn't have to be Steve to be himself. He could reinvent himself. He didn't have to stay. Crossover with the Losers**

**Disclaimer: I forgot the first chapter, but obviously I do not own, take credit for, or make money off of the Losers, the Avengers, Captain America, or any other mentioned object that is clearly owned by someone else who does take credit for and make money off of the mentioned thing.**

**Sorry, this is a bit choppy. It was spur of the moment and I haven't proof read it at all.**

**Ch.1- Uploaded 3 January 2013**

3 Reviews/6 Follows/1 Favorite/91 Views

**Ch. 2- Uploaded 28 January 2013**

-/-start-/-

Chapter Two: When Jensen Forgets His Gun

_ The blonde crouches into position, lungs adjusting to the thin air contents in the high mountain and looking over the leafy greens below him. He shifts from foot to foot, adjusting his grip on the rocks in front of him as he stretches down to lie on his stomach, pulling at his supply belt and removing several cylindrical items._

_ /"How's it going, Steve?"/_

_ Steve chuckles, twisting the metal pieces together and glancing over the edge of the cliff. He grabs around for the final piece blindly before his heart drops to his stomach._

_ "Shit," he curses softly. "Ah… we may have a problem."_

_ /"Cap?"/_

_ "I may have forgotten the final part to the gun."_

_ Various groans came over the speaker, and Steve just rubs the back of his head, getting up and making his way down the paths and about a half mile to more breathable air and the base that was set up. The men that greet him have daggers in their eyes as they trudge in and sit around the table._

_ "All that work for nothing. I didn't even get to test out this baby," complains Bucky loudly, stroking at the newly designed rifle just for him. Steve just flashes the man a guilty half smile, which causes the ebony haired man to sigh. "Why? Why can't you ever remember everything during a training exercise?"_

_ Various points of complaints rang from the rest of the Invaders. Steve raises a hand, shushing them with the gesture._

_ "You know, Cap," drawls Dugan with a cat like grin underneath his well-groomed signature mustache. "The Sarge has a point. You have the most useless things on you in an actual battle, but you never seem to remember a gun unless someone directly hands it to you."_

_ "Except for that drop in two months back," interjects James. "He got handed the gun, his boot came untied, and he left the gun sitting on the bench in the plane as he went jumping out with his parachute."_

_ A few cackles went around the table as the Captain flushes slightly at the observation. Meanwhile, he just grins and adds lightly. "But, when it counts, I have my shield and your backs."_

_ The group just grins at their Captain, the camaraderie clear and present in the air… until Howard had to ruin it, as usual. The man entering the tent with an air of smugness and oil smudge across his trousers and cheeks._

_ "How'd the exercise go? Did my inventions work alright?"_

_ The Invaders take one look at the eager man and burst into guffaws._

_-/-_

Moments like these really brought back that fact that this was a completely different era in a completely different side of the world. Jenson swallows as he leans back on the bar stool, moving away from the forward woman invading his space. It was not that he did not enjoy the female attention, but even he had to admit that he was shallow enough to have standards. And, this woman, with a chunky figure in too tight, too small clothing with cosmetics caked onto her face, looked more like a humanized pig with beady eyes and clawed fingers. Absently, he wonders why any woman would have their nails that long and that sharp.

_"Jensen, are you in position?"_

"Man, someone owes me somewhere for this," mumbles Jensen under his breathe, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. He finds the motion oddly soothing, relaxing him and making sure he does not fall back into his older habits. "Yeah, Clay, I am in position. This jerk better be worth it, because I got two hundred and twenty pounds of foreign pig invading my personal space."

The blonde curls a lip in disgust as the woman gets close enough to see the shiny film of sweat over the woman's red orange-coated lips. Automatically, he flashes back to a time where he studied the human form extensively for artwork, a time where he could approximate a person's weight and age just by looking at their body. His enhanced eyesight picks up on the individual hairs and pores of her face, and a small gag escapes him as he slides from the bar stool and makes his way to the dark hallway crowded with junkies and people going to and from the wash room.

"I don't even want to think about what the parents looked like to create a child like that," whispers Jensen in slight horror, getting various chuckles over his earpiece. "Can we get a move on? Please? There is a man giving me some serious bedroom eyes, and I do not want to get raped in fricking Pakistan."

_"Alright, move in. You have a clear."_

The blonde moves less than gracefully through the hallway, absent-minded apologies slipping out even though probably no on spoke English. No matter how hard he tried, manners and etiquette could never just be canceled out for the fast-paced and slightly rude speech pattern that dominated the United State social system.

A bang rings through the air somewhere, making Jensen automatically tenses and pauses at the noise. Several moments of silence made him conclude that the shot was somewhere else in the city and not related to the mission. With that, he slips out the back door, breathing in the crisp, cool air, and turning to a heavily dented steel door tucked in between two walls that jaunted out into the alley. He crouches on the ground, taking out his small handheld and holding it up to the high tech security doorknob.

"That was so easy," sniffs Jensen, almost as if he was insulted by someone trying to keep their valuables or head quarters safe with something that barely took him forty five seconds for him to get through. "There are two dozen easy… cheap ways to make that better that these guys should really know about."

Jensen observes the cracked and dingy walls, shutting the door softly behind him and sticking close to the ground. He goes past several open door ways, every one broken, with tattered and slashed furniture. His sharp eyes even catch bloodstains on some of the floors and walls. For the moment, he puts the thought off as he slinks past the men in the in one of the last rooms in the hallway, easily concealing himself to the shadows, despite the fact his t-shirt was an obnoxious shade of florescent lime green that read in stark white 'Annoying Since the Day I was Born.' The man inches his way through the open door way and releases a breath of relief. He softly closes the door behind him, nose crinkling as the smell hits his nose.

"Hey, guys! In the room, and, ewe, I think someone died in here," mutters Jensen, giving suspiciously looking stains a weary glance. "Surprisingly, I have no facts for this. Every time I looked people dying close to you, I got sent to grief counseling sites."

_"And, that is a huge surprise?"_

"Pooch! I thought I was all by my lonesome! No one has been talking back to me in for-ev-er!" drawls out the blonde as he sits at the computer and begins his work. In the dim room, the light reflects off his glasses, making a reflection of him appear on screen. For a moment, his own appearance startles him before he quickly pushes it to the back of his mind. "Wow! Look at this! These guys got some sort of millions going. You can hear the ka-ching. "

"_Jensen, do not transfer that into one of your accounts."_

"Awe, Clay, come on. Spoil my fun, why don't ya," mutters Jensen, eyes narrow and face serious despite his playful tone. "You know, forty-three percent of Americans have gone at least a week without using cash. I think that is strange, though, considering the amount of divorces happening. I mean, what if you are cheating on your spouse, do you really want to use a credit card at a hotel or something? It seems a little stupid. Me, I use cash for everything tied to my name. You won't see that week in Las Vegas or that gag gift I got for my sister last year. No-"

He hears murmurs through the earpiece and sighs out, knowing that the others already tune out his end of the feed. His fingers glide across the keyboard, making the faint clinking sounds bone chillingly loud in the silence of the night. Not even the faint sounds from the only club in this city next door making the room seem any emptier. Swallowing, he moves past the useless information, pulling out a thumb drive and absentmindedly inserting it once he got past all the protections that would have made the thumb drive unusable. A faint sound of footsteps makes him tense, and he curses lightly under his breath, only relaxing as the steps get fainter and eventually stop. He slumps in his seat, taking a few moments to compose himself.

"_Jensen! You done?"_

Jensen leans back in his seat. "Yeah, like two minutes ago. I was just… um…."

_"I don't want to know. Just get out."_

"On it, oh high commanding one, five seconds and I will be gone like someone stupid enough to touch Cougar's hat," Jensen gets up, slipping the thumb drive into a sewn pocket of his pants, turning and slipping back through the door. He lets a grin touch his lips as he hears the faint, deep chuckle of Cougar's. "You know, I think I am feeling Chinese tonight. Anyone want to go?"

_"Food usually makes you talk less, I'm in."_

"Poochie, I am hurt. Like a toothpick to the back. What a friend- Oh, shit!"

Jensen swallows, looking at the large Middle Eastern men in front of him. All six of them were huge, like on steroids huge.

_"Jensen! What is it?"_

"Wow," comments Jensen, taking a step back. "You six must be packing. Your mother fed you your Wheaties as a kid, huh? Probably laced with 'roids, 'cause, bud, no one is that buff." The irony of the statement is not lost on him. "Now, I am just going to casually-"

The six said something in a different language, and Jensen casts a careful glance around the hallway for escape routes. Taking a deep breath, the blonde slips against the wall and reaches for the door, yelping as a shot rings through the air.

"Dude! Not cool! Did you see how close that was to my dick? Have you no heart!"

"Why is it always near my dick?" The blonde lets out a slight groan as he was thrown against a wall, and his hand clenches around his thigh, feeling around and noticing there was no exit wound. Damn it. "Guys, little help."

He faintly hears voices answering back as his head gets bashed against the concrete wall behind him.

Everything went dark.

-/-

The blonde comes to several hours later, feeling forceps prodding at his leg. He yelps, leaping away from the object, and opening his eyes as he is forced back into the seat he was in.

"Stay where you are, Jensen," commands Clay from the other side of the room, apparently already having retrieved the thumb drive from Jensen's pants as he sat intently in front of his computer. "I have no desire to see your nude ass if that sheet slips."

Jensen does not reply as Cougar chooses that moment to continue where he left off before he woke up. He winces as he watches as Cougar digs into his thigh; removing the bullet with the apparatus and pouring the sterilizing liquid overtop the wound. "Gees, gentle, Cougs! I'm delicate."

The collective snort of disbelief makes Jensen give them all a slightly pouting look. He almost wants to get up and say something to that, but Cougar's grip on his thigh and warning eyes made him stay in place. Plus, the fact that he is nude under the well placed sheet left him some incentive to keep his modesty. Finally, Cougar gives him the go ahead, just a tilt of his head and leaning back. Jensen immediately zones in on his boxers, pulling them up under the covers and limping over to his duffle to pull out a shirt.

"Man, that makes no sense!" exclaims Pooch, nose scrunching up in disbelief. Jensen looks down at his shirt at the same time Cougar and Clay look over.

"What? My sister gave it to me for Christmas," states Jensen.

"Don't you exchange gag gifts for Christmas?" asks Clay, somewhat hesitant. Jensen nods, seeing that beneath the hesitation, Clay really held amusement for the sight. "You didn't think you weren't suppose to wear it?"

"I like it," weakly defends Jensen, nodding at his decision and pulling on a pair of jeans. "We still going for Chinese?"

The others in the room exchange a glance, wondering if they wanted to be seen with a man wearing a bright pink shirt that read 'Real Women Eat Meat.'

"He has a concussion," states Pooch hesitantly. The men sigh in unison, knowing with that and the bullet wound, they could not leave Jensen to wander a city alone.

An hour later finds the men sitting around a table at a Chinese joint, most steadily ignoring Jensen's steady stream of commentary.

"You know, approximately three billion fortune cookies are made in the United States yearly. That makes it the largest producer of fortune cookies in the world!" exclaims Jensen, cracking open his and moving it closer and farther away from his face before sighing and turning to Cougar. "Cougs… read it for me?"

"Why?"

Jensen knows that tone. It is not a why do I have to read it, but a what is wrong. "It is kind of blurry… and I might, just _might, _be seeing three of them."

"You will need to be woken up every two hours tonight," commands Cougar softly, tone ringing with finality. Jensen reluctantly nods, before pointing to the fortune. "'Your smile will tell you what makes you feel good.'"

Jensen, honest to god, giggles at the fortune. "Oh, come one, like you all weren't adding 'in bed' after it."

The Losers just stare at their youngest member, Clay breaking the silence.

"We have a new assignment, something light that won't involve Jensen getting into another dangerous situation until he is healed," pointedly states Clay, warning Jensen with his eyes not to overdo it until he is healed.

"I got it. No strenuous physical activity, no baiting teammates so that I have to run away. I will just sit at my computer like a good little soldier and not do anything against the doctor's orders," answers Jensen with a roll of his eyes, stroking his laptop on the table for extra measure and whispering. "That means that my girl and I can have some good quality time together, huh, baby?"

With that, Jensen stands slowly, taking into account the large hole in the flesh of his thigh and salutes them mockingly as he walks out of the restaurant. "I'll be in my room, don't get too drunk."

Clay only feels satisfied that the man finally learned that he was not allowed to drink while he was on medication.

-/-

The air is a musty, salty kind of quality. Smelling of sulfur and a faint tinge of humidity that comes from a large quantity of water in a muggy heat. The people moving around the area are all dressed in uniform, whether it be the thick padding of the firemen, the pristine clothing of the federal agents and military, or the clean lines of the paramedics uniforms. The people who are not moving are the ones being tended to. Firemen carry out the dead or near dead, lining them up along the sidewalk. Paramedics tend to the few lucky enough to survive, stitching and offering support.

Near the yellow tape surrounding the scene, beautiful men and women stand in front of various news cameras, hands on microphones held up to their faces.

"Behind us are the remains of the branch of the non-profit organization called Another Day. Young entrepreneur Valerie Price, who promotes the continuing growth for women and minorities in her endeavors, runs Another Day. Her contributions to the community have helped hundreds of women, children, and minorities with her program phrase of 'One Step at a Time.' She targets in on people in violent home situations, those who wish to immigrate to the United States, LGBT community, and those who are simply in need of aid. Behind us, Ms. Price continues to help the firemen and paramedics since this base of operations was blown up at approximately three thirty this morning: killing ten women, two men, and sixteen children taking refuge along with a dog and three workers. The causes of this explosion are yet to be known, but police and federal agents are working diligently to find the cause of this situation… Here is Ms. Price now."

A woman steps up beside the newswoman. The stark contrast between them is awing. The newswoman with her powdered skin, bleached smile, and perfectly coifed hair next to a woman who clearly still wore her pajamas, naturally tanned face smudged with dirt, wild curly hair tied into a frizzy ponytail, and mouth pressed into a hard line.

"Ms. Price, do know of any reason why the building burst-" starts the newswoman.

"Cassandra," starts the woman, voice firm. "I told you news people to stay away from this site. When the police have something, they will contact you. Now will you people all leave and let us mourn the dead in peace!"

Her voice steadily grew louder before she stormed away, leaving the blonde newswoman to turn back to the camera. "This is Cassandra Walters, Channel Seven News. Back to you Kevin."

Not too far away, a young figure drives carefully down a highway, humming along to the radio absently, their eyes far off as they clearly lose themselves in thought. A slight thumping brings their eyes to rest on their passenger, a young, biracial man of about twenty-one or two dressed in a mall security uniform. His eyes meet the figures, and he leans forward, but the locked seatbelt keeps him in place. The figure gives a shaky smile, to which the young man's blue eyes widen, and he struggles a little bit harder against his seatbelt.

-/-

**Sorry it took so long, I had to figure out a plot. But, now I have, and I am pretty sure it will be amazing. Sorry this was a filler too.**

**I think I will have Aisha replace Roque, because I am honestly not sure what happens with him (feel free to tell me). But, I think when Aisha is there, they are not part of the government, and that works better for the story. For now, they do their own type of assignments their own way.**

**Anyways, I originally sat here with a mere 1397 words for the second chapter and was feeling rather down about. I had no reviews, no alerts, and then, holy light came down. So, thank you to A Contradiction and Buffy Rowan and nickypooh, for really making me want to go back and fix this chapter. So, yay for ideas.**

**I actually hadn't thought about including Darcy Lewis as a love interest, just for the fact that she only showed up in Thor. Now that you mention it though, I can switch around her role a bit and make it work to at least set her up for it, even if it doesn't end up with them. So, right now, I won't commit to a pairing. I like both ideas of Darcy and Steve/Jensen as well as Jensen/Cougar. If it starts to develop one way or another, I will either split the story into two and do a slash version and straight version or I will just not do a romance at all, but a teaser. I literally wrote the first chapter in two hours when it was the asscrack of dawn, so I have a few ideas, but not really any tracks down.**

**Please feel free to keep up with Pairing suggestions or if you want NO pairing at all**

**Also, he is fully immersed in Jensen right now, he won't actually become more of Steve until later on when he is put back into situations that make him act more like Steve. ****I tried to make him Jensen without being to unlike Steve if that makes any sense. Originally he was too Jensen and I had to go back and rewrite. Tell me your opinion.**

**I don't want to call the Invaders the Howling Commandos, Nick Fury was in charge of the Howling Commandos to my knowledge and I'd rather do it my way.**

**Anyways, this authors note is taking way too long.**

-/- (AND, just for humors sake) -/-

Cougar opens up the door to his and Jensen's shared room hesitantly as his teammates fiddled in the hallway behind him.

"Are you hacking in your underwear again?"

Jensen stands and turns quickly in surprise, wincing from the sudden movement. He stands in his boxers, wearing a t-shirt surprisingly enough. But, even Cougar cannot hold back a chuckle as he reads it.

'Who needs pants with a shirt this awesome?'

-/-

**P.S. This is the first time the Security Code actually read something. Funny I am writing Captain America and it says nazi.**

**REVIEW**


	3. When the Jensens Meet Chuck's Girlfriend

**Reinvention:**

**Summary: Everyone kept forgetting he was Steve Rogers, not just Captain America: a poster boy. But, Steve was struck was a realization. He didn't have to be Steve to be himself. He could reinvent himself. He didn't have to stay. Crossover with the Losers, but you do not have to read or watch the Losers to understand.**

**Disclaimer: I forgot the first chapter, but obviously I do not own, take credit for, or make money off of the Losers, the Avengers, Captain America, or any other mentioned object that is clearly owned by someone else who does take credit for and make money off of the mentioned thing.**

**Sorry, this is a bit choppy. It was spur of the moment and I haven't proof read it at all.**

**Ch.1- Uploaded 3 January 2013/3,449 Words**

3 Reviews/6 Follows/1 Favorite/91 Views

**Ch. 2- Uploaded 28 January 2013/3,714 Words**

6 Reviews/ 6 Follows/ 1 Favorite/ 336 Views

**Ch. 3- Uploaded 28 February 2013/6,232 words**

-/-start-/-

When the Jensens Meet Chuck's Girlfriend

_ Steve shifts uncomfortably in front of the chapel, looking up at the spiraling steeples and chunks of stone taken out of the church from past bombings. He blinks slowly, wondering if he can bring himself to enter the house of God._

_ "You do know that a chapel is not a necessity for prayer, soldier?"_

_ The blonde stiffens, looking over his shoulder and relaxing slightly at the familiar, clever eyes that stare at him in bemusement. He smiles softly at her for a moment before turning his gaze back on the church. "I know. Twice a week in Brooklyn, I would go to church and pray."_

_ "May I inquire why your friend is not here with you? The two of you are near inseparable," observes the agent._

"_Bucky," starts Steve fondly, pausing for a moment to smile. "Bucky does not believe in a god. I think too many awful things have happened for him to really believe there is such a thing as miracles. Sometimes, I am not sure myself, but… my parents used to do this before they died, every Wednesday and Sunday night…. I haven't gone once since I joined up. I am not sure with the things I have done that I can enter."_

_ "You have saved hundreds of lives, Captain," states the woman, resting a hand on one of the muscular biceps incased in the worn uniform. "I think God will forgive you for what you had to do to save many others."_

_ "It is not only that, Agent Carter," hesitates Steve, looking over at the woman once more, meeting her dark eyes. "I know what I signed up for. I knew I would have blood staining my hands by the end of it. But, I deliberately changed what God gave me. I genetically, willingly, altered myself."_

_For several moments, the other stays quiet before she finally says, "I am not particularly religious myself, but, I believe the first step would be to ask for forgiveness. Standing out here looking in is not going to do you any good. The longer you wait to make the steps inside, the more sins you have piled up to confess."_

_Steve smiles, unable to help himself at the awkwardly given advice. He turns towards her, giving a little chuckle as she avoids his gaze with her chin tilted up proud and stubborn. "Perhaps, you are right…. Would you like to come in?"_

"_I do not think I would be welcomed there, but thank you," she answers, moving away before Steve could stop her. But, with his upturned lips taking on a more sad emotion, he understands why she walks away. She is slightly like Bucky in that way._

"_Just because you don't think you deserve forgiveness does not mean that you don't," he murmurs in the wind after her. _

_-/-_

A blonde kneels before the alter, his hands clasped and resting onto of the bench in front of him, while his head was tilted downwards with eyes closed. The air is still around him, only tiny particles of dust moving through streams of midday light. A man cloaked in traditional garbs of a Catholic clergyman makes his way down the aisles, his shoes lightly clicking off the stone of the floor and echoing through the ornate room. Finally, he reaches the front row of pews, sitting beside the man kneeling and praying. He waits silently, as is routine. After several moments the blonde moves from kneeling, sitting in the lightly padded red velvet that covered the dark wood.

"I have not seen you in a long time, Jake," states the man, to which the blonde turns his blue eyes, clouded and weary, upon the pastor. "I assume you have not let your sister know of your return yet?"

"No, I have not, Father," answers Jensen, slouching just slightly as he looks up over the crucifix mounted above the alter. "I need to… leave work away from home."

"A wise decision," vaguely answers the other. "Would you like to confess or has prayer brought you peace?"

"I believe confession is not necessary, but perhaps on Sunday I will take the time," murmurs the blonde, turning to look at the middle-aged man beside him. "Do you mind if I borrow your wash room to change?"

"It looks like you have already," the Father retorts lightly, but gestures with a nod towards the room.

"Well, Jessie hasn't seen me in dress clothes in years. I think I may give her a heart attack if I show up after a year and am wearing something other than a pair of jeans and a t-shirt," grins Jensen half-heartedly, nodding his thanks as he disappears to remove the button up shirt and slacks. A few minutes later, the blonde reemerges, adjusting his belt carefully. His clothing is muted compared to his normal, colorful t-shirts, but the blonde has to find some semblance of respect within a house of God.

"Walk with me to the door?" questions the man, already standing and gesturing. Jensen nods, walking slowly beside the other man. "It is good to see you again."

"You as well," responds Jensen, hefting his duffle bag higher on his shoulder. "I may only be here a few weeks at most, but I am sure I will see you again before I take off."

"As you always do," answers the man. "Do not be afraid to wake me if you have to take your leave at night. I will always open the doors for you to pray."

"Thank you, Father Thatcher," Jensen murmurs after a long moment. They reach the doors in silence. "I will see you soon."

"May the Lord be with you."

"You as well."

Jensen makes his way out to the populated street outside the church, maneuvering through the crowds and walking steadily towards home. He looks over the familiar diner at the corner of the block, taking in the new video game store set up across the street. It always amazes him how quickly a place can change. Especially when, even now, he still has moments where he is at a complete loss for something brought up in passing: a common event, a social tick of what someone his physical age should know. A lot of the time, he immersed himself in front of a computer, even in social settings, so that he could look up anything that he did not know. And, when a computer was not readily available, he did something he learned from a certain billionaire. He rattled off about something until the subject was forgotten.

Looking down at his watch, he turns down the street with the house, but does not go on to drop his things off. Instead, he sits on the bench on the corner in the shadows, waiting for the bus to drop off his niece. A feeling of warmth passes through him at the title, because even if not in blood, he had a family again. Perhaps that is why he is always so fierce and slightly… excitable when his family is mentioned. The pain of losing the first one brought on an ache that made him realize that he would not last through losing his second one.

Off to the side, he watches as a very large, tawny gray squirrel gracefully strides across an electrical wire from one tree to another. At the squirrel's size, he almost believes that his niece was out feeding the animals again, and a little snort of laughter escapes him. He would believe that in a heartbeat. Beth was always out feeding the animals or bringing an injured one home to patch up. If the eight year old had her way, she would have a zoo in the house by now. However, now the girl had to settle with only Rico, her golden retriever poodle mix that catered to her mother's sensitive hypoallergenic needs.

His blue eyes gaze upwards as he hears faint footsteps, and he smiles as he watches the young woman catch sight of him and quickly hurries her pace to greet him sooner. The two dogs beside her gallop happily at the quicker pace. "Hey, Michaela."

"Hey, Jake," she answers, threading her arms around his neck and embracing him. He briefly holds her before letting go, clearing his throat awkwardly as he bends down and hugs at Rico, who was jumping enthusiastically upon him, slobbering doggy kisses upon his chin and neck. "When did you get back?"

"A little bit ago. I thought I would wait at the bus stop for Beth and take Rico off your hands," answers the blonde. Michaela and Jessica alternated days to pick up the kids, as they were both working mothers. Whoevers day it was would pick up the dogs for a walk to the bus stop, pick up Beth and Michaela's sons Henry and Aaron, and proceed back to one of the houses, where one of the mother's would fetch their children and dog when they got home.

"Sounds… great, actually. Henry and Beth have been arguing constantly over the whole girls and boys are better than each other thing. Aaron just thinks Beth has cooties, so he runs away every time he sees her," complains Michaela lightly. Jensen laughs at that, noticing her fond exasperation. "The things five year olds get from kindergarten."

"I remember when Bethy went through that. She wouldn't let me give her any hugs or kisses until I came up with a plausible explanation as to why I wasn't considered having cooties," grins Jensen at the older woman. It was always so much easier to talk to women that were older or married for some reason. He guessed it as some sort of ingrained manner that he learned as a child when single women had to be escorted or courted. "How is Henry Senior?"

"That husband of mine just loves to stick his foot in his mouth," answers the brunette with a sigh and a small laugh.

"Mm, that good than," nods Jensen, in a way that she knew he was mocking what he was talking about. The woman laughs, and they both watch as the bus pulls up to the curb, its yellow frame slightly dingy and doors squeaking as they folded open. Out hops Henry Junior, fighting with Beth for the first step out of the bus. Neither of the nine year olds relent, and push and shove each other until they both hop off at the same time. Five year old Aaron just shyly follows his older brother and hugs his superhero lunch box to his chest.

"I was off the bus first," argues Henry, scrunching his nose up at Beth, who just flips her braid over her shoulder and smirks at the boy.

"Clearly, I touched the ground first. Are you sure you don't need glasses, pooh bear?" coos Beth tauntingly. Henry's eyebrows furrow.

"Only my mom gets to call me that," he states in frustration, to which Michaela laughs happily and stands; even though Henry said it in such a way as to anyone listening, he was humoring his mother, not actually liking the nickname.

"It's okay, Henry, my little sunflower has a whole bunch of embarrassing nicknames," teases Jensen, unable to resist. Beth's gaze flicks onto Jensen, and she springs upon him as the bus closes its doors and pulls away. Jensen catches her, making a big deal as he lifts her up. "Gees, doll, have you been putting rocks in your pockets?"

"No! I just have gotten bigger since the last time you came home," defends Beth, snuggling her face into his neck with her arms hugging him and legs trapped around his waist. "And, only you are allowed to call me those embarrassing nicknames, Uncle Jay."

"Good to know, sweet pea. Ready to get down and go home?" asks the man. Beth shakes her head.

"No way. You have been gone for over a year. Thirteen months! That means thirteen minutes of hugging time. You have to carry me home."

With that declaration, he snorts, holding her with one arm and slinging his duffle over his shoulder. He grabs Rico's leash and smiles at Michaela. "See you soon, alright?"

"I expect at least one dinner invite while you are here," answers Michaela, before herding her boys and dog in the other direction back to their house.

"So, how is my abnormally short munchkin?" asks Jensen as he heads back to the house. Beth huffs in irritation at the nickname, but knowing the truth of it being the shortest one in her grade.

"Fine, my abnormally large uncle," she retorts back, scowling at him. "Mum says the pipes below the kitchen sink are leaking. She wants you to fix them."

"How long has that been going on?"

"About two months. Mum is a cheap scape and doesn't want to spend the money until it floods the kitchen. She says she would rather wait for someone she knows to do it. But, it is bugging me. There is a constant drip, drip, drip, drip-"

"I got it, sweet heart," cuts off Jensen, reaching up and moving her face away from his ear. "Easy on the volume. I need those."

"Sorry," apologizes Beth, sighing lightly. "Can you order pizza before mum gets home? She has been on this health food craze lately and I miss greasy cheese."

Jensen scrunches up his nose at the description, his soldier mind already processing just how bad the pizza loaded with grease actually is for the body: however, his stomach rumbles and he is reminded he has not eaten since before boarding the plane at the airport. "Yeah, sure. I will do it before I fix the sink."

They make their way back to the house slowly, with Rico continually stopping and starting again to sniff at something or trail after a squirrel, taking them twenty minutes to get back instead of the usual ten. Jensen sets his niece down as soon as they enter the house.

"Go put your stuff away and meet me in the kitchen in five," states Jensen, bopping her on the nose lightly. She scrunches it up, freckles moving with her expression, and he laughs as she turns and quickly hops up the steps. With that, he moves downstairs to his domain, taking in that most everything was where he had left it. Some of his things were slightly moved, such as the pen cup he kept on his desk and the sheets on his bed, but he knew that was Jessica's work. She always made sure the place was dust free and his bed fresh for when he came home. He drops his duffle onto the desk chair, moving to the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulling a key from his pocket. Placing it inside the slot and twisting it, while pressing his thumb to the underside edge for scanning, he opens the lid. Briefly, he lifts the false bottom, checking to make sure all of his sentimental possessions are there, as well as spare cash, before pulling his weapons and computer from his duffle bag and putting them on top the false bottom, secure in the locked trunk while he was away from the basement.

Relocking the trunk and deciding the rest could wait until later on that night, he took the steps back up, seeing Beth already at the kitchen table with a snack and homework laid out in front of her. He laughs as he sees the tools ready and waiting for him. He kneels to the floor and opens up the cabinets to begin.

A few hours later, Jessica huffs out a breath as she props her bag of groceries against her hip and fiddles with her key to get the back door unlocked. She loved her job, she did, but sometimes, she just wanted to go back to doing something simple like cutting hair and not feeling this frustrated by not being able to get the key in the door. Finally, she turned the key and a satisfying click sounded to let her know she could enter. Twisting the knob and planning to start dinner before going to pick up Beth, she pauses as her daughter blinks up at her from the table.

"Hey, mom!"

"Hey, sweetie, where's Michaela?" she starts, placing the bags on the counter and dropping her purse on a kitchen chair before she trips over something lying on the floor. She stares at the denim that her hand catches herself on and turns slightly to see Jensen staring at her with a look of absolute amusement. "Jake!"

"Hey, cheap scape," answers Jensen back, sliding out a little and sitting up so that he could properly hug the blonde woman. "Heard you were procrastinating with the sink and decided to help my wonderful little pumpkin pie and fix it."

"I don't even like pumpkin pie. You can't call me that!" protests Beth from the table. Jensen just grins.

"And, who is going to stop me, Miss Hater-of-Pumpkin-Pies? Which by the way is a total tragedy. It's un-American," states the blonde male as he was finally released from Jessica's hold. "And, how is my b-e-a-utiful sister doing on this fine Friday night?"

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were coming! Any other surprises while you're at it?" she exclaims, slapping his chest lightly. Jensen cocks his head to the side, playfully thinking.

"Hm… I ordered pizza for dinner, and Chuck is coming tomorrow. Do those count?"

"Yes," deadpans the woman, getting up off Jensen and holding out a hand, which he takes unnecessarily as he gets up himself. "Is the sink finished?"

"What? No how are you? No why are you home? Just 'is the sink finished?'" protests Jensen. Jessica gives him a look, and nods with a false putout look on his face that makes Beth giggle from the table as her mother kisses her forehead in greeting before going to the bags on the counter. "Your mother kills me sometimes."

Jessica just snorts at the acted whine her brother gives for her daughter's benefit and begins to put away the groceries, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box as she went as the other two had clearly already started. She nibbles on a slice before turning to her daughter. "Upstairs to wash up."

"But, Uncle-"

"Uncle Jake will be here when you are done. You may even be able to convince him away from his laptop for family movie night," coaxes Jessica. Beth grins mischievously at her uncle before grabbing her completed homework and making her way upstairs. The blonde turns back to putting things away, inquiring over her shoulder. "So, what are you really doing back?"

"Eh, we had a short little mission after one that caused me to get shot in the leg. They said now was as good a time as any to take a little vacation," shrugs Jensen, frowning at the already healed leg. Jessica turns worried eyes on him. "I'm fine, it's practically better anyways."

"I just hate the only time you come home anymore is if someone gets hurt or if you all play dead," admits Jessica, turning to look at him seriously as she closes the fridge with her eyebrows furrowed and lines forming between them in worry. Jensen steps toward her, two fingers moving up to smooth the lines away.

"Don't frown so much, you will give yourself wrinkles." The man gives a weak smile, not sure what to say after that, but ultimately deciding to lighten the mood. "And, hey, we aren't dogs. We don't play dead… admittedly, that was better than calling me a cat. They can't be trusted."

Jessica rolls her eyes. "You are still one of the most awkward men I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."

"I will take that as the compliment it is."

-/-

Chuck knocks on the door, scratching at his slightly hooked nose as he waits for the door to be answered. His girlfriend just looks around impatiently, studying the coral colored bricks and neat flower boxes hanging from the shuttered windows.

"What is this guy's name again?" finally asks the woman, craning her head a bit to look over the tall fence around the backyard and seeing a peak of a massive wooden play set. Most of her boyfriend's friends live in their parent's basement or some hole in the wall between a drug dealer and a conman. "More importantly, how did you get a friend who lives in such a normal place?"

"Jake Jensen. It's his sister's place. Jessica and her daughter, Beth, live upstairs. He lives in the basement," answers Chuck after a moment, shrugging as he reminds her of his friend's name. His girlfriend idly wonders if living in your sister's basement was a step up from living in your parent's basement. The door finally opens, a blonde haired woman smiling gently at them. "Hey, Jessica."

"Chuck," answers the woman, stepping aside and holding open the door for them. "And, this must be the girlfriend we have heard so much about."

"Actually," starts his girlfriend, brushing a piece of dark hair behind her ear. "The girlfriend you heard so much about is his ex-girlfriend and my older cousin. I am his on-and-off girlfriend for about a year now…. Oh, it's nice to meet you. Sorry, I sometimes forget about that. Manners and stuff."

"You as well. Care to share the on-and-off part?" answers Jessica curiously and with a hint of amusement while ignoring the small tangent, giving Chuck a raised eyebrow as she closes the door behind them and begins to lead them down the hall to the living room.

"Her job has her travel a lot sometimes," Chuck states, not showing whether he is happy or unhappy about the fact, as usual. "So, where is Jensen?"

"In the living room with Beth. He convinced her to play video games, because nothing being on, and the news being depressing," Jessica rolls her eyes along with the statement.

"Oh, yeah, that non-profit place being blown up," nods Chuck in understanding, having seen or heard the story a dozen times over the past two days. They enter into the living room, taking in the warm furnishings. The chestnut haired beauty beside Chuck eyes the two blondes sitting on the floor in front of the television playing video games almost intently, as if she sees something no one else sees. Despite the fact that she was surrounded by scientists on a daily basis and had no talent for it, she had quite the eye for picking things up.

"Jake!" calls out Chuck.

"Hold up, Chuck. And, if you brought Olivia, duct tape her mouth until I kick this little cheater's butt," states the blonde male, leaning as he turns the car on the screen, as if he actually in the car. The little strawberry blonde girl next to him does almost exactly the same thing; both have their tongues poking out from between their lips in concentration. After several moments, they cross the finish line and the little blonde girl of about eight or nine jumps into the air, dancing around the living room and cheering wildly.

"Ha, Uncle Jay! Who has skill now?" she cheers, grinning and dimples peeking through. The splattering of freckles across her nose stand out starkly under her light blue eyes on her flushed face. "I do. That's right!"

"That is just so unfair," states the male, looking at the screen as if by staring alone he can turn back time. Finally, the blonde shakes his head and stands, turning around. "Hey, Chuck-"

"Hey, Jensen, meet my girlfriend, Darcy Lewis. Darcy, this is Jake Jensen."

-/-

The blonde eyes the woman across the table from him, observing the faint lines at the corners of her eyes that only someone with advanced vision could pick up. He deduces quickly, looking at her expensive, well made clothing as well as her faint smile that the past years since he has seen her have treated her well.

"So, Darcy, do you work with computers as well?" inquires Jessica as she passes the mashed potatoes over to Jensen, who scoops a good amount onto his plate as he waits for the answer. His sister looks over at him curiously for his abnormal silence.

Darcy smiles over at the blonde woman, wiping her mouth after she finishes chewing. Jensen admires how different that is from the how she used to be. It is a refined, almost thoughtful way of eating in comparison to the eat-as-fast-as-you-can-or-don't-eat-at-all philosophy that she had adapted being around Dr. Foster's boyfriend and a dozen of college guys on a regular basis. Well, years have passed, he assumes.

"Actually, I work in politics. I _handle_ a lot of extreme cases," the mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she directs the statement at Jensen gives him an idea of just exactly what her job was now. Dear god, if anyone could replace the unshakable, BAMF handler that was Phil Coulson; it would be Taser happy Darcy Lewis.

"Do you work in Area 51? Because, I know what happens there. Uncle Jay hacked it," states Beth, narrowing her eyes into a glare at the beautiful woman. Darcy turns surprised eyes onto the blonde male, who was looking down at his food as if eating was the most important thing in the world.

"No, I work in New York City mainly," admits Darcy, grinning at the nine year old conspiringly. "But, I am sure I could get you into Area 51."

"Seriously?" hesitantly pushes Beth, as if shocked by the reply. The brunette just continues to grin.

"Of course. Darcy Lewis is many things, but a liar she is not," answers the woman.

"So, you'll take me there?" excitedly half-states Beth. Darcy gives her wide eyes.

"What? No, of course not. I said I _could_ get you in, not that I _would_. Gosh, I don't even know you. You could be some sort of spy or something," declares Darcy, taking another dainty bite of her food. Beth's jaw drops, and she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I am not a spy. I am only nine years old. Why would a country send a nine year old to New Hampshire to a city where there is absolutely nothing relevant going on?" answers the girl smarmily. Darcy shrugs.

"You tell me?" she answers loftily. Jensen snickers, causing Darcy's light green eyes to look at him, tilting her head slightly as she did. All he could see was a question. At that moment, he wanted to pour his heart out. Tell her that he was sorry for leaving without a word to her, and how she was such a good friend. How he based a little bit of his new self on how she used to act, and how glad he was that she did not lose herself to politics when she went into S.H.I.E.L.D. How he admired the way she could interact with children, and make Beth irritated and awed all at the same time. And, he knew his niece; the girl definitely liked Darcy. Jessica did, too, if her hidden smile was anything to go by.

"Did you mind if I use the washroom?" asks Darcy suddenly. Jensen stands with her.

"I'll show you," offers Jensen, already walking out of the room. Darcy follows him through the halls, stopping him before the bathroom. "Sorry doesn't seem like enough."

"No, but it will do," she answers, a hint of humor in her tone.

_-/-_

_He cocks his head to the side, following the woman's movements around the room and unable to stop his curiosity as the woman fumbles and trips every which way._

"_Do you need any help, miss?" he offers, the woman turns rapidly in response. She is tall, maybe twenty-one or so, with dark chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders in slight waves. Spectacles, dark in color, slide down her nose, being pushed up in front of vibrant green eyes by slender fingers. Her shapely figure is pale, contrasting and flattered by a knee length navy and tan polka dot dress that hugged her gracious curves and flared out at the waist. Smart tan heels brought her already tall height up further._

"_Darcy," she answers, her voice a tenor and insistent. She looks him up and down, clearly observing his form, to which he flushes at the blatant approval in her eyes as she swipes at her pillowy, lip-glossed lips with her tongue. "And, actually, handsome, you bet you can help me."_

"_Ah, whatever would you like help with?" finally answers Steve. Her eyes sparkle as she looks into his. Her hand gestures to three large boxes in the corner._

"_Please and thank you?" she asks. Steve nods, stacking two boxes on top each other and heaving them up. The woman, Darcy, picks up the third, smallest box. They walk in silence for a few minutes as they walk through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s halls. "Thanks so much. I am a klutz on good days and a disaster every other day. We are going to the labs, by the way. Do you know where they are? My boss told me to show up this morning, grab the rest of the boxes from that room, and meet her in the lab. She didn't tell me where the lab was, though."_

"_Which lab are you referring to, Miss Darcy?" Steve inquires lightly, the weight of the boxes hardly making an impact._

"_Just Darcy, kind Samaritan," she presses._

"_Steve Rogers, ma- Darcy," he introduces himself, smiling at her slightly and hoping he was not making a fool of himself in front of this dark haired beauty._

"_Well, Steve, my boss, Doctor Jane Foster, is currently in the lab next to a Doctor Bruce Banner. That is all I got from that woman. Smart as all heck, but anything other than work and her boyfriend leaves her absent minded," explains Darcy, not complaining as most women of this era, but merely stating a fact fondly and with slight frustration. "But, she isn't all bad. When she said she would put up with me for another summer and foot the room and board to come with her, she made my day. Internship hunting is absolutely awful. It is like the worst shit ever to be invented."_

_Steve colors slightly at her language, but directs her to the elevator. "Doctor Banner's lab is on the eighteenth level."_

"_Oh, good, you know where we are going. I probably should have asked that first, but I tend to forget about that. My mum always says to stop assuming, it makes an ass out of me, but I just can't seem to help it with the little things. I just get so engrossed in more important things and I tend to ramble… which I am doing now. Geezus, you're a saint for putting up with that for so long. Next time, just tell me to shut up," nods Darcy, as if that was that. Steve notices she assumes that they will see each other again, but politely does not point that out. The elevator dings, and they step out, Steve leading the way to the only of the three labs on the floor he knew was unoccupied up until a few days ago. He sees a very petite brunette through the glass of the office area outside where the experiments take place. He recalls Thor introducing them briefly yesterday. "Jane!"_

_The brunette looks up, smiling at Darcy and bustling over to hold open the door for them. "Hey, Darcy, flight alright?"_

"_Yeah, it was okay. My last ten minutes were better. Steve over there helpfully directed me to the lab that you didn't tell me where it was," glares Darcy. Jane colors lightly._

"_You could have texted or called me at any point in time," defends Jane. Darcy raises an eyebrow._

"_Aren't you forgetting something?" quips Darcy with a face that said that no BS would be accepted. Jane thinks for a moment and then colors more as she remembers yesterday's incident and the remains of her phone. "Yep, and queue up the prize because we have a winner. Ding. Ding. Ding."_

_Jane lifts her hand and playfully slaps Darcy's arm before taking the box from the woman's arms and moving over to an empty corner. "Thor can't help his strength. Oh, Captain, you can set those over here. Thank you so much for directing Darcy here."_

"_Captain?" mouths Darcy at the blonde, who sets the boxes where Jane directs. Steve shrugs, unsure what to say. "Well, you certainly have the muscles for an army man…. Now, I think I have done enough work to warrant a lunch break. You coming, muscles. I think I will need help finding some place good to eat."_

"_Well, I," starts Steve, but seeing those sparkling eyes again, he sighs out his defeat. "Alright, I believe I have time. There is a nice diner across the street."_

_-/-_

**To A Contradiction: No offense taken. I am still trying to find the balance between Steve and Jensen. From what little I know, immersing yourself in someone can make you a little engrossed in the more unpleasant qualities. Like I said though, once Steve is put into a situation that makes him act more like Steve than Jensen, he will break through with more of those traits. I think now that I have a plot, though, I can concentrate on more of the characters than where the heck this is going. I mean, last chapter I didn't know how to portray the rest of the Losers so I just grouped them together and left it. Sorry, this note went on waaaayyyyy too long. I just don't want to fall into the trap of making Steve "perfect." I also don't want to assume that Steve would be the same after several years, just as Darcy wouldn't be or Tony or anyone else. Also, I kind of figure at the end, Jensen was in pain from a rapidly healing bullet wound, and thus became a little snippy. Did I even answer your comment? I think I just rambled.**

**I was going to split this in two chapters, but it didn't seem worth it. I wanted everything in here to be included in this chapter, so… don't expect the next chapter to be that long.**

**The Losers will be in the next chapter; this was really just an introduction into Darcy. I hope I got her personality somewhat correct. I tried, but I had to keep in mind her job and the fact several years have passed.**

**Even if this won't be a romance fiction, Darcy is still going to play an important role.**

**And, for those who haven't yet, tell me whether you want this to be a DarcyxSteve, slash, or no romance/bromance. I already have two for Darcy, one for slash (Cougar), and one for bromance. **

**Also, don't forget the other Avengers characters. Tony will play a large role, just so you know.**

**I was actually going to put this chapter out on Friday, 1 February 2013, but I blame Warm Bodies and rereading this chapter made me want to rewrite a bunch of things. I had 5800 words and 700 of those I didn't care for, so I went back to rewrite it. Then, I didn't look at it for four weeks.**

**Don't blame me if the Catholic part is inaccurate. I do not know much of anything about how the Catholic religious system works.**

**REVIEW**


	4. When the Losers Get Involved in a Plot

**Reinvention:**

**Summary: Everyone kept forgetting he was Steve Rogers, not just Captain America: a poster boy. But, Steve was struck was a realization. He didn't have to be Steve to be himself. He could reinvent himself. He didn't have to stay. Crossover with the Losers, but you do not have to read or watch the Losers to understand.**

**Disclaimer: I forgot the first chapter, but obviously I do not own, take credit for, or make money off of the Losers, the Avengers, Captain America, or any other mentioned object that is clearly owned by someone else who does take credit for and make money off of the mentioned thing.**

**Sorry, this is a bit choppy. It was spur of the moment and I haven't proof read it at all.**

**Ch.1- Uploaded 3 January 2013/3,449 Words**

3 Reviews/6 Follows/1 Favorite/91 Views

**Ch. 2- Uploaded 28 January 2013/3,714 Words**

6 Reviews/ 6 Follows/ 1 Favorite/ 336 Views

**Ch. 3- Uploaded 28 February 2013/6,232 words**

9 Reviews/10 Follows/2 Favorite/623 Views

**Ch. 4- Uploaded 8 April 2013/6,565 words**

-/-start-/-

When the Losers Get Involved in a Plot

_The wind bites through the trees, causing many of men to shiver and wrap their coats tighter around them. Two men sit against a tree, their sides pressed together in an attempt at more warmth. They are relaxed against each other, clearly comfortable in a way that comes from years of trust and mischief with the other._

_ "Ever think of what you want to do when this is all over?" asks the dark haired man to his fairer best friend. The large blonde next to him chuckles, his voice steadier than the others, whose teeth knock together involuntarily in response to the cold. _

_ "I don't know. Maybe go back to work at the newspaper," shrugs the blonde, to which the other raises a brow slightly. "I know it wasn't the best paying job, but I just can't see myself wanting to stay forever in the army. I think I want to go back to being an illustrator and find out what I want to do to really help people."_

_ "You'd be a good father," states the brunette, causing the blonde's head to snap towards him. "Oh, come on, Stevie. You don't think I haven't seen you and Agent Carter making googly eyes? You two are going steady and don't even know it."_

_ "Peggy and I are just colleagues," defends Steve, his blue eyes surrounded by snow covered eyelashes. The man beside him just snorts. "We are, Bucky!"_

_ "You two are going steady as sure as my name is James Buchanan Barnes," answers the other. Steve huffs, folding his arms over his broad chest. "Really? You don't see a future with her?"_

_ "Of course I do," states Steve, looking off at the men laughing around the campfire several yards away. "But, a lot of things will change after this is all over. We will have lost a lot, even if we win. Peggy might not want to be tied down. She is really independent."_

_ "That dame looks at you like you are her favorite dessert. She will not give you up after this. Besides, I suddenly became you after you went and got yourself experimented on. There are plenty of other dames that Peggy will fight off of you," mutters Bucky. Steve chuckles, his eyes meeting the equally blue of his friends._

_ "Oh, come on, Buck. It isn't that bad. Now you know how I always felt," teases the blonde. Bucky glowers, folding his arms over his chest and tilting his hat over his face as if to sleep. "Buck… Bucky! James Barnes!"_

_ "What?" huffs Bucky finally, peaking out from under his hat and seeing Steve grinning at him._

_ "Dum Dum just stole your gun."_

_ "What!" Bucky leaps up, looking at his missing gun and seeing the retreating backs of Dugan and Falsworth. "You bastards! Get your no good asses back here with my baby!"_

_ The sniper gives chase, leaving a laughing campsite behind him as the three men run around the perimeter. The sniper tackles Dugan, who tosses the prized rifle to Falsworth, who looks at Bucky's murderous look and drops the gun, running to hid behind Morita. Bucky grabs his gun, propping it up and taking aim. Quickly, Steve is there beside him, moving the gun down with an admonishing look that makes Bucky give a sheepish look back._

_ -/-_

The man opens the door into the kitchen, a baby on one hip and a bag of groceries on the other. He sets the bag on the counter, shifting his son to a more comfortable position.

"Your mom has been feeding you rocks, Columbus, I swear," states the man to his son, locking the door he had just entered and setting the baby down in the play pen set up in the corner of the kitchen. He begins putting away the groceries, the baby standing on unsteady feet and holding onto the edge of the pen as his father talked to him. "I can't be just this baby mush that makes you heavy."

He finishes up, moving to pick up his son again and moving into the living room and to the entranceway. He goes over to the board on the wall above the key table by the entranceway, where they left notes for each other.

_Hey honey,_

_Gone off to work. I get off at three-thirty and will be making lasagna for dinner when I get home around four, so don't go getting into the snack food. Hope you and Columbus had fun at your mothers yesterday._

_Lots of love and kisses,_

_Jolene_

Pooch glances over at the clock, seeing the time at four thirty from his impromptu stop at the grocery store. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, pulling out his cell and dialing his wife's number as he begins to look for her.

"Jolene, honey! You home?" calls out Pooch, walking through the house and seeing no trace of his wife. He takes a deep breath as he makes it back into the living room and sets Columbus on his play mat in front of the television, not worried about a run away baby as he was only just at the standing stage with help. He picks up the phone, dialing the familiar extension to the hospital where Jolene worked.

/"Good evening, this is Jessica speaki-"/

"Jess, did Jolene leave yet?" interrupts Pooch urgently, knowing the woman wouldn't mind. The two women constantly were together at work and spent most of their time together on the weekends, seeing as they only lived an hour away from each other. Pooch knew for certain that the guest rooms at each of their houses were more for the other woman than actual guests.

/"Pooch? Yeah, she left about an hour ago. Why? Is she not there?"/

"No, and she is not answering her cell either," admits the man, who hears a sharp intake of breath on the other line. "Will you go check for her car in the parking lot?"

/"Yeah, give me a sec. I'll call you on my cell when I find out."/

Pooch hears the phone go dead, and he waits impatiently on his couch, looking at the slowly fading sun outside and reaching over to turn on a light. He looks back over at his son, who is happily giggling away with a soft toy of a giraffe. The little boy looks up, grinning a toothy smile before going back to his toy, making the man chuckle as he shoves it in his mouth. At the first ring of his phone, he snaps it up. "Anything?"

/"Her car is still here, Pooch. I don't really see anything else."/

"Thanks, Jessica. I appreciate it," sighs out Pooch, rubbing at his forehead. "I need to give your brother a call, but I will talk to you later, alright?"

/"Yeah, keep me updated?"/

"Will do," answers Pooch, clicking the end button and dialing a number he has long since memorized. "Hey, J-man. I need a favor."

-/-

Jensen glares at his screen as the program runs, pulling up another window with an online poker game. He curses as the computer deals the cards, only a pair. Fireworks burst across his screen with 'You Lose' in the center, and he grumbles to himself as he unbuttons and shoves off his jeans. His opponent sends him a smiley face with sunglasses with the simple order of 'pants' in the chat bar at the bottom. He growls, typing furiously back.

**Spangles: Just because you have me down to my boxers does not mean you are better at poker than me.**

**GBPPA: Give it up. I still have boxers, socks, and a shirt on. You suck at strip poker.**

**Spangles: Well at least I am better to look at while I am doing it!**

**GBPPA: You may have aged better, but I have more experience!**

Jensen's eyes were torn away from the screen, eyes analyzing what the video cameras were showing him. He sees a slim figure in the driver's seat with baseball cap. Watching closely, he sees Jolene with her scrubs and bag over her shoulder, walk over to the SUV, pointing at a no parking sign. For several moments, the two talk with Jolene pulling out her wallet and showing her hospital ID badge. Jensen pauses the video, zooming in and rewinding. His eyes tracing over full lips as he watches Jolene's lips. Rewinding the video to the beginning of Jolene talking, he begins to write down the conversation he was roughly reading. Once he got all there was from the video and watches Jolene actually get into the SUV, he curses.

"Damn it," he mutters, setting out to type the license plate number into the database to search for. Opening back up his poker game, he sets out his next move. After quickly finishing that, he goes back to the chat box to type his reply.

**Spangles: I believe they call people with your 'experience' mature.**

**GBPPA: I will have you know that I am in prime.**

**Spangles: Prime, huh… You mean mid-life crisis, because that is what they usually call it.**

**GBPPA: What do they call yours than?**

**Spangles: I am like wine. I get better with age.**

**GBPPA: How would you know? You can't properly appreciate it.**

Jensen snorts, the doorbell ringing, and Rico barking wildly at the door. He shoves his rolling chair back and throws on a shirt and pants, not wanting to explain why the wound that should still be present is no longer there, with no scarring. Plus, a small voice in the back of his head that sounds strangely like his grandmother would scold him something horrible for forgetting his manners. He tugs Rico's collar and pulls the large canine close to his side as he opens the door, seeing Pooch and Columbus standing on the doormat with a diaper bag and duffle slung across his shoulder.

"Hey, Pooch-man," greets Jensen, stepping aside and letting Pooch step in. "The play pen is still in the living room. Jolene and Jessica are together so much that she doesn't bother putting it away anymore. Would you like a drink?"

The sentences are rushed together, and Pooch nods, observing his anxious friend as he puts Columbus into the playpen and switching on the baby monitor while shoving the second in his pocket. Jensen locks the door quickly and rushes into the kitchen. "It isn't good, is it?"

Jensen gives his friend a glimpse of a sad smile, handing him a glass of tea with a lemon wedge, something he knows is Pooch's favorite and had made about fifteen minutes after Pooch called and set it in the fridge. "No, not really. Come on, I have a lot to show you…. Rico, guard."

The canine tilts his head before moving back over to the playpen and lies down beside it, tail wagging lazily and ears perking at every sound. Pooch whistles lightly, following Jensen down the stairs to the basement. He pauses at the site of the desk, with mounted monitors on the wall, and all hooked up to the laptop sitting on the desk. Jensen gestures to a chair at the other side of the room as he sits at the large, comfortable chair in front of the desk. Pooch grabs it, dragging it over to the desk and sitting down. His eyes narrow onto an online poker game that is in the corner before he watches Jensen type a quick 'got to go' in the chat bar and exits.

"I play poker with extra cash sometimes. It is for fun. The guy I play against has more than plenty to spare. When I don't have money, we play strip poker," explains Jensen in one long breath as he closes out different programs and moves others to one of the six surrounding screens, making Pooch dizzy just looking at it.

"Is that why you hack in your underwear?" asks Pooch before he could stop himself. Jensen gives him a little smirk that says it all. It startles a laugh through the man's worry. Jensen sits back as he finishes, handing Pooch a notebook and opening up the video from the surveillance cameras at the hospital. The man swears his heart stops as he sees his wife get into the car. Reading over what Jensen had gleamed from lip reading he inhales deeply. Jensen pulls up another video as the one he watches ends, showing the vehicle on different cameras throughout the city. Part of Pooch wonders how the tech could do this in the hour it took to get here, but his mind mainly focuses on the screen and his worry. His eyes watch as the SUV pulls off to the side of the road at one point and throws Jolene's favorite bag out the window. "I lose them about two miles later. The vehicle goes into a secure neighborhood. Pretty rich, uptight kind of country club neighborhood."

"Damn it!" curses Pooch before he can stop himself. Jensen just looks at him, waiting for the man to calm down more.

"I am running more traces right now, don't worry so much. We will find her," states Jensen seriously, with such confidence that Pooch cannot help but feel confident as well.

"Yeah, yeah," sighs Pooch, rubbing a hand across his cheek. "We will…. I should go give Clay a call."

"Tell him to stay put. He is in a casino with Aisha about an hour from here. My programs will be another four to five, minimum so we will go up. Jessica will be back in a half hour to watch Columbus. Okay?" suggests Jensen in a way that said it was more of the plan of action than a suggestion. Pooch nods.

"How do you know where Clay is?" asks Pooch as they go back upstairs.

"I keep track of everyone's credit card records…. Just in case," answers Jensen nonchalantly, as if it was perfectly normal and un-stalkerish. Pooch immediately turns to face him. "What? It comes in handy now. I already called Cougs. He is coming from visiting one of his cousins at school in New York City. He should be getting there a little before us."

"I really don't feel comfortable with you tracking my credit card records."

"If it was really that important to you, you would be like me and not use a credit card. I mean, I use Jessica's occasionally when I purchase stuff online, but I replace the money, and she is a lost cause anyways. She doesn't agree with my views on credit cards and calls me a big baby. I think that is kind of demeaning. I don't look like a baby at all, and I think I don't act like one either. Besides, what baby has facial hair and talks as much as I do?" questions the blonde rhetorically, Pooch getting a slight look of horror on his face as he imagined such a baby. Ultimately though, he just feels relief, because he knew that Jensen would take his mind of his worry for long enough periods at a time to keep him sane.

Moving into the living room with the other, he picks up Columbus, sitting his son on his leg and bouncing the boy up and down as he sits on the couch. Jensen sprawls all over the armchair beside him, rapidly using the Internet on his phone while somehow maintaining proper posture. Perhaps it is the blonde's personality that makes it seem like he takes up so much space. Either way, he is glad the blonde is there to keep him calmer without Jolene with his familiar actions and ranting.

-/-

Pooch pulls up to the casino with a raised eyebrow at the luxury. The large glass doors stand at least twelve feet tall underneath a large covered entranceway, a fountain visible from the outside standing in the middle of the lobby. On one side of the fountain is a large, curved marble desk with workers ready to check in guests with a large sitting area in front. The other side held a large staircase with hallways on either side. "Do I even want to know?"

"Eh, probably not. Aisha paid for it, which I know wasn't by moral ways," shrugs the blonde, getting out of the car and shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets after zipping it all the way up. They make their way into the grand entrance way and over to the stairs, taking them quickly and deliberately to the fifth floor. "Five oh seven."

Down the hall, a figure in jeans and leather leans against the wall across from the said room, a finger going up to tip the hat up in greeting. "Hey, Cougs! Why you outside?"

"Still busy," answers Cougar, simple and to the point. His tone is almost bored, staring at the two of them approach and standing up straight as they approached, rolling his shoulders in a mock stretch.

"Busy?" asks Pooch before hearing a loud feminine moan. His nose scrunches in disgust. "Never mind. How long has this been going on?"

"More than a half hour," is the soft reply. Jensen snickers, Cougar shooting a glare at him immediately in response.

"Sorry, Cougs. I know you are properly traumatized," nods Jensen, with such sincere sympathy that Cougar just scoffs and leans back against the wall. Pooch joins him, raising a brow at Jensen, who moves over to the door. "Hey, being that loud is just asking to get interrupted."

Jensen knocks loudly on the door, calling out, "Come on, guys! It is only eight! You have already been at it for forty-five minutes at least. Finish already or I will keep banging on the door!"

The noises behind the door suddenly fall silent before a loud 'you have got to be kidding me' resonates from Aisha. Jensen just grins, moving to stand between Cougar and Pooch, who both immediately taking two steps away from his 'brave' soul. The door opens not two minutes later, Aisha in just a robe and Clay in a pair of jeans he finished buttoning up. The woman looks deadly, even with swollen lips and hair mussed from activity. The tie of her robe is just barely closed, showing a strip of skin from neck to navel. Clay, next to her, thankfully looks more put together, almost calm in the face of interruption. But, then again, Clay is used to being interrupted at inopportune moments for strange things done by his subordinates. Aisha glares daggers at Jensen, who merely raises a brow, which causes Aisha to deepen the glare into an 'are you suicidal' look.

"Serves you right for not answering your phones," comments Jensen, making Clay give a slightly surprised look. Aisha shoots him a stern look.

"I wanted to have uninterrupted sex, so I turned them off," mutters Aisha, clearly saying, 'I dare you to comment.'

Clay's eyes narrow back, thoroughly displeased by his phone being turned off without his permission. "What is it?"

"Jolene's gone," states Pooch, making Clay's eyes widen.

"What do you mean gone?" inquires Clay, grabbing a shirt from somewhere nearby and pulling it on.

"I mean, into a car, forcibly taken, and gone," Pooch answers shortly.

"Alright," breathes out Clay, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright, let me grab my things and we-"

"Wait a minute, our lead on Max happens tomorrow night. You can't leave!" interrupts Aisha, her face stormy. Cougar, Pooch, and Jensen all glare at the women, clearly not understanding Jolene's importance to them. They cast a glance at Clay, doing a double take at their leader's faltering gaze. Jensen huffs, grabbing Clay's wrist and pulling him down the hall, Cougar and Pooch following.

"Listen, we know you like Aisha and you want your revenge on Max," starts Pooch, hesitating clearly as he tries to find the words past his anger at his superior. However, he does not have to concern himself with figuring out the words as Jensen picks up where he left off.

"But, quite frankly, ever since Aisha came into the picture you have been reckless and emotional. We know you have a freaky kink for unstable women, but this is just plain unhealthy. You are obsessed with finding Max, and we all understand and agree that we have to stop him, but the actions you have been taking lately make me fear that I won't get a chance to go home again because I would be as dead as a doorknob," states Jensen bluntly, face and words serious and purely Jensen. Personally, Jensen believed that the man was starting to show the beginning signs of something he had seen with another man he had looked up to. The obsession that ultimately led the man to neglect his son through unhealthy obsession. To hurt the people he cared about through an unmanageable addiction. And, Jensen did not want another person with an obsession and addiction like Howard Stark. Clay, while not an alcoholic, showed the same addictive tendencies towards psychotic women and obsessive tendencies towards Max. Clay looks to protest at the beginning, but actually pales at the fact that his tech and communications subordinate believes he might get him killed through his orders. "I have stayed this long because of loyalty, but it should have never gotten to this point. If you believe that Max can't be put on hold for Jolene, then you need to get your priorities straight."

"You need to make a decision," Cougar interjects, voice low and dangerous. "The Losers or Aisha and Max. Our deaths will not be a result of your actions."

Clay stares at them, his face conflicted before he sighs, nodding at them. "You all are right. Okay, let's go set up base and find Jolene."

His team gives him a smile in each of his own different ways, and he knows he made the right decision. Looking over his shoulder at the door to the hotel room, he takes a deep breath.

"Go start the car. I have a feeling this won't be pretty," mutters Clay, squaring his shoulders and making his way back down the hall. The three Losers left all agree with that statement, leaving their commanding officer to the psycho woman in the motel room.

Jensen snickers to himself as he slips into the back seat, Cougar taking the front next to Pooch.

"What?" asks the African American man, turning slightly in his seat as he starts the car.

"The Psycho Woman in the Motel Room," enunciates Jensen, grinning as the forties music in his head introduced the title. "I think that would be an appropriate title to a flick."

"You get the strangest ideas," snorts out Pooch, pulling out of the parking space and moving to the curb to wait for Clay.

"Ci," agrees Cougar, Jensen just rolls his eyes, looking out the window eagerly to watch for Clay.

"You guys just don't understand the start of a masterpiece," mutters Jensen, eyes widening as he sees Clay rushing down the stairs through the window. Knowing the others would not be able to see him quite yet, he reaches over and opens the door, ready for Clay to slide into. The man comes barreling out the door, almost running down the walk and throwing his duffle on the seat before sliding in himself.

"Move, move!" growls Clay in his commanding voice, door not even shut yet.

"She didn't take it well then?" states Cougar more than asks with a smirk. Clay glares at the sniper, and then to the other two who were snickering at the comment.

"Oh, shut up and tell me where we are heading," snarls Clay.

-/-

Clay and Cougar stay silent for several long moments after seeing the video. Clay finally broke the silence. "What do we know about the license plates?"

"Traced them to a Ford Focus registered under a sixty eight year old on the other side of the state. The plates were stolen about two months ago," recites Jensen, looking up from his laptop and towards the four lounging in various places around the room, as the monitors on his wall were large enough to see the surveillance videos, along with one holding the rough translation of what Jolene said from Jensen's lip reading. "Nobody in the neighborhood the SUV disappeared into has one registered under their names, but I am not surprised. People that rich usually have a couple of escape cars for occasions that paparazzi are on their tails."

"So, we need to get inside then," comments Clay idly. "Jensen, you think you can set up surveillance at all exits of the compound. I want to know every person that leaves and enters."

"On it, just give me a couple hours to put something together," nods Jensen, turning back to his computers and beginning the search for equipment in the area.

"Pooch, find a van suitable for a surveillance. Something that deals with whatever service those people call in when their computers have problems. Starting tomorrow, I want to equip that van with all the equipment needed to watch that compound," states Clay. Pooch nods.

"I know a guy I can get an old FBI surveillance van off of. A quick paint job and we will be good to go," answers Pooch, determination filling him as he finally had something to do to get Jolene back.

"Cougar, I want you to go get whatever supplies Jensen is looking up, and get your weapons ready," Clay says, turning to the Mexican. Cougar nods, slipping in the seat next to Jensen. "I want that van hooked up to the cameras set up at the exits. As soon as possible, Jensen will go into the compounds systems and plant a virus only he can fix while planting something for easy access into their systems. If they have webcams, I want access to them. We will go in, Pooch observing the people from his position driving the van. I will take the back of the van to observe the comings and goings. Cougar will stay on the outside in case our SUV decides to take another spin."

-/-

Three days later found Jensen inside the compound, knocking on some rich guy's door for the third time that day while pulling his ball cap with the company logo over his eyes and straightening the company jacket. He bit his tongue as an honest to god butler answered the door, and he felt like he took a step back in time as he was allowed in. The interior of the place was that of something like the forties. It reminds him strongly of Howard Stark's mansion back in the day. The butler as well held a different era of quality to him, a trim mustache set above his lips, well groomed and equally as sprinkled with gray as his hair. His face, long and angular, held crow's feet at the corner of his eyes and lines on his forehead. The uniform he wore, simple black pants and waistcoat, along with a white button up, were of the finest quality, down to his polished black leather shoes. The gaze butler held, steady and piercing, was both intelligent and slightly discerning.

"Right this way to the study," the butler calls, causing Jensen to start from his awe and nod, moving quickly behind the butler to the second floor study, where a large desk held a computer that looked over the vast grounds. The butler stays behind him, clearly not trusting the tech alone, not that Jensen blamed him considering he was here only to fix his mess.

"Righto," states Jensen suddenly, causing the man behind him to start. "This is just like the ones at the other houses. I think the entire compound got the same virus. Probably just some amateur hacker trying out his tricks. I can fix this no prob, buddy."

"My name is Rolf," answers the butler, his salt and pepper hair and piercing green eyes boring into Jensen. The blonde turns to give a quick sloppily salute.

"Nice ta meet ya," slurs Jensen, getting into character, he pauses in his typing, looking out the window overlooking the grounds and catching site of the patio and gardens. A maid was a serving a table of three. The older man, clearly getting into his eighties, is smiling joyfully at a pretty young girl with fair curls and skin, dressed modestly next to a man with spikey blonde hair and a stern expression. "That my client?"

The absentminded question brings the butler to answer. "That is Doctor Nathanial O'Toole and his grandchildren, Henry and Gail."

"Ah, right," drawls Jensen, absently stretching before going back to typing. He keeps at it for a good ten minutes, continuing with his planting of programs before finally swiveling in the chair and standing. "All done, Rolf, old boy. Lead the way to the door!"

Rolf raises a brow, but turns to lead the way down the stairs and to the door. Jensen waves cheerily and makes his way to the van. He gets into the van, buckling his seatbelt as Pooch started the car to go down the surprisingly short driveway. "Seeing anything good?"

"No. Just disgustingly rich people," answers Pooch with a sigh. Clay pops his head from the back, looking slightly ruffled and more than a little put out. His face seemed to ooze exhaustion from boredom and heat from the stuffy van.

"No sign of our SUV," states Clay. "Cougar has not seen any suspicious behavior behind a shady congressman and what he believes is a prostitute. He is going to keep those pictures for potential blackmail."

Jensen snickers. "Of course he will."

"Alright, let's call it a day," sighs Clay, moving back into his chair in the back. "Come back tomorrow. We will probably get a lot more calls when some of these rich people get back from whatever winter houses they are at. Have all the calls rerouted yet?"

"Yeah, all their calls to the company have been rerouted to the van, so it shouldn't be a problem of them getting suspicious," Jensen states, scratching idly at his nose and looking out the window at the surrounding area.

Pooch makes his way through the compound, passing meticulously groomed lawns and houses till they reached the front gates, passing through the secure gate when the van tripped it's weight sensor. They remained on the road for about two miles before pulling off to a small diner where Cougar leaned against a dark car while waiting.

"Alright, let's debrief over coffee before we get back to Jensen's," mutters Clay, hopping from the back of the van and wiping his hand across his forehead as he glared at the sun indirectly. The three others nod in agreement, wanting to be able to report all the facts and things they saw while it was fresh on their mind instead of thirty-five minutes down the road.

-/-

_ Jolene sighs to herself as she exits the hospital, pulling her Vera Bradley duffle bag higher on her shoulder and looking around the parking lot, pausing at the site of an SUV parked in an emergency vehicle zone. Her lips pull into a frown, going over and knocking on the window. She startles the slim figure inside, whose cap is pulled over their eyes. The figure fumbles, turning the key in the ignition and allowing power to come to the vehicle, but not starting the engine. The window of the passenger side opens a crack so the slim figure in the front seat's voice was not muffled._

_ "Excuse me, but you can't park here. This is an emergency lane, it is illegal to park here," explains Jolene in her commanding voice she uses when her son or husband do something they are not supposed to. The figure's lips pull into a sheepish smile._

_ "Sorry, my sister went to visit her boyfriend real quick. I don't have a license, only a permit, so I can't turn on or drive the vehicle without someone twenty-one in the passenger seat," explains the voice, soft and sheepish. Jolene huffs, figures. _

_She twists her hair back into a bun, asking as she did, "Well, how long will your mother take?"_

"_I dunno, twenty or so minutes. Maybe a half an hour," shrugs the figure. Jolene sighs, thinking she should probably call security, but then they would make her stay until they could locate the driver's sister and she really just wanted to get home. She hardly saw her husband and son enough as it was. _

"_Alright, how about I get in and you drive to the parking lot," suggests Jolene. The figure in the driver's seat shakes their head._

"_Sorry, ma'am, but I don't know you. Perhaps if you show some ID or something," comments the driver. Jolene reaches into her bag, pulling out her hospital ID badge and holding it up for observation. "Nurse Practitioner?"_

"_Yeah, Jolene Porteous," answers Jolene. "Is that enough?"_

"_Hold on, let me text your name to my sis so she knows exactly who got in the car. And, so I know you actually work here," states the driver, sending off a text before even finishing speaking. Jolene looks at the figure with a huff, as if to ask why go through all the trouble of having a fake hospital ID card._

"_You are one suspicious person, aren't you," finally murmurs Jolene. The drive shoots her that sheepish grin again. Jolene just sighs, rubbing her temples. "No, I understand. You have every right to be suspicious with all the stuff the news puts up these days." Several moments pass by. "What exactly are we waiting for?"_

"_Sorry, just need to wait for my sister to text back," apologizes the figure. Jolene raises a brow._

"_She is in the hospital? Her phone is more than likely turned off," states Jolene, causing the other to look up in surprise._

"_Oh, seriously?" the question being answered with a nod. "Okay, then, I guess it is okay if you hop in, then. I am causing a lot of trouble being where I am at."_

_Jolene sighs in relief as the figure unlocks the door. She climbs into the front seat, putting her bag on her lap and buckling the seat belt after closing her door. The driver beside her turns on the radio, humming along as the car is started. Jolene looks out the window boredly as they go into the parking lot, before gasping slightly as she feels a prick to her neck._

"_Sorry about that," apologizes the driver. "But, you screaming and yelling would just ruin everything."_

_Jolene turns wide eyes to the road as her arms slowly go numb, though her legs and body still moved other wise, she tries to lean forward, but her seatbelt is locked. The figure gives her a shaky smile._

"_You might want to relax. The more you struggle the more control you lose over your limbs."_

_Jolene swallows, a tear slipping from her eyes as the vehicle turns onto the road and begins a drive south. The driver hums along to the radio, fingers tapping erratically against the wheel, a nervous, anxious gesture. _

**-/-Authors Note-/-**

** I read another fiction with Columbus being Pooch's sons name and liked it, so that is what it is going to be. Sorry for the wait, but I told myself not to update until I got as many reviews as the last chapter, and I didn't even start it until then. I am pretty adamant on that now. I won't update until I get equal or more reviews. Hey, though, I thought I wasn't going to make another long chapter, but I did. So, maybe that is incentive. And, you all finally know part of the plot. A small part.**

** And, yeah, just so y'all know, GBPPA and what it stands for isn't too hard, so have a couple of guesses in a review. The first person to get it right include a one-shot or story idea you want done if you like, because I can't say cookies anymore. It will be uploaded at the same time as the next chapter. I think I will start something to guess every chapter and have a one-shot as a prize to the first person. Just because it will help the juices flowing. Just look at my… extensive favorite stories categories for what I like to read (I also like Sherlock, too), in case you don't want a Losers or Avengers one.**

** Oh, by the way, I am making Tony about 30 or so in the Iron Man movies. I figure that gives him about 13 years experience after the genius graduates from MIT. So, he is about 39 currently. I know that makes Howard a weird age when Tony was born, but ignore it. **

** By the way, Jessica and Jolene work at the same hospital. Their houses are about a half hour away from the hospital, but an hour from each other because they live in opposite directions.**

** Oh, Aisha just wasn't doing it for me, so she is out.**

** Thank you everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate the reviews and your kind words. Please continue to let me know your thoughts and feedback. It brightens my day.**

** Also, please don't hesitate to tell me which pairing you want. So far, CougarxJensen is winning at 3 votes. DarcyxJensen is in second with 2 votes. I have one for no pairing, but a lot of bromance. I would also like to add in that the Avengers will come in, and Tony will be a main character, so don't forget them.**


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